


how

by donnatroy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Arkham Verse, F/M, Light Angst, Reunions, wow i like to hurt myself more than i already do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnatroy/pseuds/donnatroy
Summary: It's been years since you've seen him and now that he's standing in front of you, you don't ever want to let him go.





	how

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” You say, holding up a batarang, but it’s an empty threat really. You know you won’t make your target, you’d never had practice in throwing them. Bruce had never bothered to show you how to use them. You were just the resident surgeon in training.

The man in the suit, which vaguely reminds you of Bruce’s suit, only stares at you. At least, you think he does, you can’t actually tell through his helmet. You shift your weight, lips pursing into a thin line as you move your arm, to add emphasis to the batarang in your hand. “I’ll ask you one more time. Who are you?”

Jason steps away from the display case that holds his Robin suit and closer to you. You only go back up a step, your free hand clinging to the railing. He knows who you are but what you’re doing here, he doesn’t know. You’s never known about him being Robin, he’d only gone to school with you since he started the wayward teen program.

You look almost the same as the last time he’d seen you, which had been a little over three years ago, but he’d changed so much in that time.

He reaches to the spots between his jaws, fingers pushing onto the pressure locks that loosen the clasps around his neck. He really shouldn’t be doing this, it could ruin his plans. God, why was he doing this?

The batarang clatters against the metal of the stairs when he has the helmet pulled off and rests in his hands, close to his chest. You’re certain your heart had stopped when his face registered in your mind. He should be dead. He is dead. But you guess not if he’s standing right in front of you. It could just be a trick, a cruel, cruel trick that you’re playing on yourself.

“J-Jason? Is that you?”

He only looks down at his helmet, rubbing at an imaginary scuff mark. It’s just an excuse to not meet your eyes.

You’re not sure what to feel, it’s not every day that a friend comes back from the dead. It’s a battle to stop yourself from running down the stairs to get to him faster, you just don’t want to be disappointed if it turns out it’s just some figment of your imagination, playing into your recent bout of sentimentality for the boy you once knew. It’s pathetic, letting yourself revel in the thought that he might still be alive.

He dodges the hand that reaches out towards him, to feel he is really standing right in front of you. You try again, reaching out and grabbing one of his hands and sighing in relief when your hand makes contact with something real.

“I thought you were dead.” you whisper, taking in the sight of him. He’s gotten taller since you last saw him, a lot taller and just… bigger in general. You wonder where the scrawny kid went with the unruly curly hair. This person… this man in front of you isn’t the Jason you know. He’s hardened and not a single emotion leaks into the features you had once adored. There’s nothing there. He’s almost a shell.

“What happened to you?” The scar on his cheek is angry and hard to miss, the pronounced J sits there and it serves as a reminder. You highly doubt that the J stands for Jason, but something far worse. Bruce had never given you the details of how it had happened but you always had an inkling.

“Telling you won’t change anything,” he bites out, hands tightening around his helmet, “Besides, it’s not something you’d want to know.”

“You were my best friend and you just dropped off the face of the earth. Jason, I- I missed you.”

It’s a hesitant movement, hands slowly moving up to his shoulders, waiting and seeing if what you were doing was okay, and when he doesn’t pull away or even flinch, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward hug, his helmet digs into your stomach uncomfortably and the suit he wears is cold and clunky and the shoulder guards cut against the skin on your arms. 

Jason is unsure if he should even do this, he shouldn’t have even been here for so long, in case if someone came in, which it seems, is too late for that. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d gotten any kind of affection like this, years seemed to be wiped from his mind and his arms loosely curl around your torso. 

“I need to leave.”

He watches you nod your head against his chest-plate and your hands move back to his shoulders and up to his cheeks. Your touch is soft and light, fingers dancing over his skin. Your eyebrows furrow as your fingers move over the scar on his left cheek and you sigh, wishing that you could have done something to prevent what had happened to him. 

You’re not sure, but there’s a feeling in your gut that this might just be the last time you see him. If it is, it’s good knowing that he’s still alive, that he’s healthy and that’s all you can wish for.


End file.
